Movie Stars That Had Early Career Bit Parts on TV

Starting out, most actors will take any sort of assignment. Commercials, info-mercials, dinner theatre, whatever. For an up and comer then, a small part in a popular TV show is a comparatively prestigious gig, bringing with it immediate exposure to a large audience. These early credits are then often forgotten, if and when the actor makes it to the big time.

Here are 5 Hollywood stars who took an early bow on the small screen:

TIM ROBBINS

Fremmer in Moonlighting

When I was in primary school, this romantic-comedy-detective show was my favourite thing on TV, although it's nowadays best remembered as the vehicle that set Bruce Willis on the road to mega stardom. But it also provided an early career moment for another young actor. In the first episode of Season 1, Gunfight at the So-So Corral, the first character onscreen is Fremmer, a young wannabe hitman played by a fluffy haired, 27 year old Tim Robbins. Something of a TV veteran, there were bit parts in The Love Boat and Hill Street Blues before Moonlighting came along, Robbins tackles his part with gusto and his role here is memorably... goofy. His fight with an aging, top shelf hitman is a masterpiece of unintentionally silly slapstick, and the look on his face as he tries to get away is gormless enough to have come out of The Hudsucker Proxy. You can watch it here.

JENNIFER LAWRENCE

Mascot in Monk

Oscar winner, arthouse darling and tentpole franchise mainstay, Jennifer Lawrence is the girl that can do no wrong. With legions of fans and a queue of well credentialed directors lining up to sing her praises, it's almost hard to believe that her first credit on IMDB dates only from 2006. And, even more astounding, is such a minor part that her character doesn't even have a name! Who could treat J-Law in such a way? Unthinkable!! But there it is; in this episode from Season 5 of Tony Shalhoub's quirky detective series, Mr Monk and The Big Game, the girl wonder dons a bear suit and jumps around on the sidelines of a high school basketball game, before briefly pulling her head off to talk to the coach. Will wonders never cease? The scene is here.

BEN STILLER

Fast Eddie Felcher in Miami Vice

For me, Ben Stiller seems like such a product of the 90's that it's sometimes difficult to imagine his existence prior to Reality Bites. And yet, here he is in one of the previous decades most iconic shows, giving a high octane speed rap to a white suited Detective Crockett in Miami Vice. But, in this, Stiller definitely wasn't alone, as MV gave an early credit to a staggering number of Hollywood's biggest names, including Julia Roberts, Bruce Willis, Liam Neeson and (very hard to imagine)... Helena Bonham Carter? Find a full list of the Vice's prominent guest stars here, and Stiller's motor-mouthed effort here.

EMMA STONE

Cynthia McAllister on Medium

And now for something... a bit icky. Rising star Emma Stone has made a name for herself playing a series of smart, hip, sassy young women in popular movies like Easy A and The Amazing Spider Man. But her first prominent role was on TV in the suburban psychic drama Medium, playing an altogether different sort of character. She even had a different name; born Emily Stone, she decided to take a stage name as the Screen Actor's Guild already had someone with this handle. She initially chose Riley Stone, which is how she is credited on Medium, before settling on Emma, a nickname her mother had for her when she was a child. As for the ickiness? Riley Stone plays Cynthia McAllister, a troubled young woman who has been bullied into an incestuous relationship with her father, a disturbing plot that you can get a snapshot of here.

HARRISON FORD

Beach Patrol Cop in The Mod Squad

As a movie star, Harrison Ford has been in some of the biggest, most successful films ever made. And, before that, he served a lengthy apprenticeship playing bit parts in B movies and TV serials, of varying quality. One of the bigger TV shows he was in (a list that includes Ironside, Gunsmoke and Kung Fu), he played a cop in the very first episode of this time capsule action drama, a role so tiny that he wasn't even credited. But there he is: Han Solo, Indiana Jones, Deckard, learning his chops on the beach patrol. And while I couldn't find an actual clip of this moment from the show, for a giddy Harrison Ford experience check out his even earlier cameo in The Great Escape here.

Australia's Forgotten Oscar Winners

Australia has had some great success at The Oscars in recent years. And our winners have been lionised such that they are probably familiar to nearly everyone; Rusty and Cate and Shiney McShine and Crazy Mel (before he went crazy).

Less well known then the recent victors are some Oscar winning Australians from years past. For this country has produced winners going back decades, a number of whom were recognised for their work on some of the most famous movies in the history of cinema. 

Here are five Oscar winning Aussies, now slightly overlooked:

ROBERT KRASKER

Best Cinematography - 1950

The Third Man

Born in Perth in 1913, Krasker moved to Europe as a teenager to study art and worked initially as a stills photographer in Dresden and Paris. Moving to London in the late 30's, Krasker took a job at Korda Studios and soon moved into cinematography. Influenced by both film noir and German expressionism, which he had been exposed to on the continent, Krasker established a name for himself with moody, starkly contrasted imagery. His movie career followed an established path; work on B pictures like The Thief of Baghdad (1940) leading to more prestigious assignments, like Olivier's Henry V (1944). He put himself at the forefront of his field with brilliant work on David Lean's Brief Encounter, generally considered one of the finest British movies ever made, although Krasker would clash with the director over the shooting of certain scenes. His work was held in such regard though, that he was Carol Read's first choice to shoot The Third Man, and this became Krasker's signature work. His imaginative lighting and inventive camera angles are a notable feature of the film, and he was rightly recognised at the Academy Awards in 1950. Krasker subsequently moved to Hollywood and lensed a number of other high profile movies, before retiring in 1965.

ORRY KELLY

Best Costume Design - 1951, 1957 & 1959

An American in Paris

Les Girls

Some Like it Hot

Costume designer Orry-Kelly (born Orry George Kelly) is Australia's most successful Oscar winner, earning three statuettes in the 1950's. The son of a tailor from Kiama, New South Wales, Orry-Kelly studied art in Sydney before moving to New York in the 1920's to pursue an acting career. There he shared an apartment with another up and comer, Archie Leach (AKA Cary Grant), while taking odd jobs to make ends meet. He painted murals and did some casual costume work on Broadway, which lead to a job offer in Hollywood. Moving to LA in 1932, Orry-Kelly soon realised his talents lay specifically in costumes and he became an in-demand designer, working for all the major studios. Working prolifically, his work is featured in some of the best known films of the era, including; Casablanca, Oklahoma! and The Maltese Falcon, and he would end with an amazing 263 film credits. But it was some of his most flamboyant work that earned him his Oscars, and the engagingly silly drag costumes of Some Like It Hot are probably his most enduring contribution to film history. A witty, acerbic man, and an outrageous drunk, Orry-Kelly appears to have lived a melancholy life outside of the studio system, and he died of alcoholism in his sixties. His pall bearers included both Grant and Billy Wilder. Gillian Armstrong is reportedly working on a documentary of his life, which may include the rumour that he and Grant were occasional lovers, as well as friends. 

JOHN FARROW

Best Adapted Screenplay - 1956

Around the World in 80 Days

John Farrow's eventful life began in Sydney in 1904, as the son of a dressmaker and tailor. A restless youth, Farrow joined the merchant marine as a teenager and traveled the Pacific. After a chance meeting with pioneering film producer Robert J. Flaherty, Farrow took an interest in cinema and moved to California in 1927, hoping to get work in the industry. He did odd jobs at the fledgling film studios and began writing, and by the 1930's had established himself as a solid, mid tier screenwriter. He expanded into directing and racked up a number of B picture credits in the lead up to World War II. In 1936 he married actress Maureen O'Sullivan and they had four children together, one of whom, Mia Farrow, would become more famous than either of her parents. He joined the Navy and saw active duty during the war, then returned to Hollywood and made a series of successful war pictures. But his career declined in the 1950's, and he was largely back to assigned screen writing work when he won a surprise Oscar for co-writing Around the World in 80 Days, generally considered one of the less distinguished films to taste Oscar success. Farrow often expressed a desire to work in the Australian film industry but, apart from producing some Australian documentaries, this idea was never realised. He died of a heart attack in Beverly Hills, aged only 58.

JOHN TRUSCOTT

Best Costume Design & Best Art Direction - 1968

Camelot

Melbourne born John Truscott achieved a rare double Oscar win in 1968 for his work on the period film Camelot, garnering recognition for his art direction and costumes. Truscott was an acclaimed costume and set designer from the theatre, with a long history of working on large and small stage productions in Australia. His well received work on a theatrical production of Camelot in 1963 lead to an invitation to Hollywood to work on the film adaptation, which makes his subsequent Oscar success, on his first film, even more remarkable. Although the acclaim for his film work was not universal (film critic Leonard Maltin called Camelot's production design 'cheap'). Truscott's film career was short lived; having worked on the big budget musical western Paint Your Wagon he drifted back to theatre, although he did not return to Australia till 1978. On his return, Truscott worked on a number of projects, including designing the Melbourne Arts Centre's interior and serving as creative director of Brisbane's World Expo in 1988. He passed away in 1993.

PETER ALLEN

Best Original Song - 1981

Arthur's Theme (The Best You Can Do)

Australia has only produced one nominee in the best song category, and so one winner, and who else could this be but Peter Allen, one of the great music populists. The song came from the successful romantic comedy Arthur, starring Dudley Moore as a spoilt, alcoholic millionaire and Lisa Minelli as the blue collar girl who takes his fancy. Arthur's Theme was largely written by Christopher Cross, who sings the song, in collaboration with Burt Bacharach and Carol Bayer Sayer (Bacharach's long time writing partner). But Allen, Minelli's ex husband, also contributed enough material to get a song writing credit and, ultimately, an Oscar. The song's famous refrain, 'If you get caught between the moon and New York City' is reportedly Allen's, from an unproduced song he wrote for himself some years before. The song's video is here  (you know you want to).

Review: The Wind Rises

Rates:  *  *  *

Film makers are an obsessive bunch. Which makes sense; there are a thousand and one details that go into the making of every film, so being a bit OCD is probably an evolutionary advantage. Similarly, film makers are often drawn to stories about other obsessive people, real or imaginary. This is undoubtedly because they see in these committed characters a reflection of themselves and their own desires.

And so it is with The Wind Rises, venerable Japanese animator Hayao Miyazaki's latest, and reportedly final, feature.

Jiro Horikoshi is a small boy born in a provincial town just after the dawn of the 20th century. His childhood is entirely disarming; Jiro goes to a basic school, helps his parents with the many chores around their semi-rural property and dotes on his younger sister. Important character traits are established early. Jiro has a strong sense of morality, demonstrated when he defends a weaker boy from a group of bullies, and his generally calm demenaour conceals a burning passion: Jiro is obsessed with flight.

From an early age, he has fantastical dreams about taking to the air in a home made aircraft. In one of these he meets Caproni, a famed Italian aircraft engineer. While the young Jiro would like to be a pilot, he already knows this dream is cursed; his acute myopia will always keep the pilots seat out of reach. But he is impressed with Caproni and his high minded talk about aircraft being 'beautiful dreams,' and resolves to be an aircraft designer instead.

In the first of several jumps forward in time, the film then moves to find Jiro as a young man, returning to university in Tokyo by train. En route he meets Naoko, a cute young woman he immediately feels a sense of connection with.

As their train arrives in the city, a devastating earthquake strikes (the real life disaster of 1923) and a city wide fire erupts in the ensuing chaos. Jiro helps Naoko find her way home, and the director produces one of the most stunning sequences of his long career. The quake, and its aftermath, is realistically, but flamboyantly depicted, with the harrowing drama of the moment sitting alongside some surrealistic touches (the way the railway track leaps in the air and the earth literally roars before it shakes). It's a stunning sequence, serving as a bridge between the imaginative content of the director's earlier films and the more realistic tone adopted here.

Back at university, Jiro has grown into a pleasant but soberly committed young man, almost entirely dedicated to his aeronautic studies. His head is always in a book, or bent over his drafting table, and his designs are iconoclastic. In rare moments of levity, he sees plane parts everywhere he looks, whether watching birds flying past, or eating mackerel for dinner and remarking that the bones would make perfect wing struts.

Another jump forward finds Jiro working for Mitsubishi, now trying to turn his ideas into reality. Japanese industry is depicted as outdated and backward and Jiro, and the companies other young designers, constantly hit their head on the ceiling imposed by the use of wood and canvas, as opposed to metal. They all laugh at the fact that their experimental planes are taken to the test airfield by bullock, but they laugh through gritted teeth. Progress is slow, Jiro frustrated.

A chance encounter then allows him to rekindle his association with Naoko, who has grown into a delicate and sickly woman. Their friendship soon blossoms into romance and leads Jiro to the one great question posed by the direction of his life; as Naoko becomes sicker, will he choose her or his work? In a move so selfish it could only be true, he tries to avoid this decision altogether, marrying Naoko and installing her in his manager's house, so he can see her for a few minutes at the end of his 18 hour workdays. His wife's condition rapidly deteriorates.

But Jiro does, at least, make some progress with his designs, coming up with a radical new prototype that finally seems to match the vision in his head. Although, when it comes, even this is something of a Pyrrhic victory. The military has always been Mitsubishi's main customer and as the 1930's crest and begin their slide towards a world war, it is obvious that Jiro's planes are going play a key part. Ultimately, his design would become the Zero fighter, one of the war's most famous instruments and star of many film adaptations of the attack on Pearl Harbour.

This seems to point the way to the film's conclusion; a single minded dreamer forced to face the negative consequences of his good work. But, disappointingly, the film decides to dodge this and retreats, tamely, to fantasy again for its conclusion. Jiro's wife does die - fittingly while he's at the airfield - and he dreams a final dream of finding her again, watched over by Caproni, who compliments him on his plane design. Nodding at a passing version of the Zero, Jiro remarks, 'None of them ever came back,' which is an elegant summation, if not dramatically satisfying.

With The Wind Rises, Miyazaki has decided on a coda that is entirely at odds with the rest of his filmography. There are no forest spirits, animal demons, talking cats or enchanted bathhouses here. And, for a while, it seems as though he has hit the jackpot, that his beautiful dream of a stylishly animated bio-pic about a difficult man is to be brilliantly realised. The opening hour of the movie, charting Jiro's childhood, arrival in the city and fledgling career is wonderfully captivating.

But, unfortunately, the longer the film progresses, the more it sheds this initial sheen.

Jiro's quest becomes repetitive and, after a time, tiresome. He keeps having great design ideas, only to have them flail when he tries to build them, a repeated series of events that slowly loses its charm. And there are some odd elements to the story, which take up screen time without adding very much. Chief among these is a grey eyed German entertainer who befriends Jiro, and offers him snatches of cryptic advice.

The film's main, non-aeroplaney element, the doomed love affair, struggles to offer what it needs to, in order to balance the story. The adult Naoko is so frail, right from the time Jiro finds her again, that their interaction is mostly kept to holding hands in bed. Naoko is barely able to function and is so obviously ill fated that there is no dramatic tension regarding the outcome. She is clearly going to die young, and it is also blatant that her husband will largely ignore her beforehand.

But the film's main problem is the ending, which comes across as a copout. You could make the argument that this isn't a war film, rather a study of obsessive tendencies, but my feeling is that Jiro needed to be confronted with the horrors that he contributed to. This is provocative, but a necessary counterweight to the film's overall theme, which appears to indicate that artists must be free from normal behavioural constraints in order to achieve their ends. While you can make this argument, one logical conclusion is that artistic tunnel vision can produce some pretty unpleasant consequences, which it clearly does here. It would have been interesting to see what Jiro finally made of it all, his contributions as an engineer and a man, viewed from a broader perspective.

The Wind Rises is a visually arresting, but only fitfully successful, movie. Miyazaki deserves credit for following his own heart and ending his career as he wanted, its just a shame that the results are so uneven. Making a lengthy biopic as an animated feature is a bold play and, as Jiro's story demonstrates, bold plays often end unsatisfactorily.

Review: Nebraska

Rates:  *  *  *  1/2

Woody Grant (Bruce Dern) is coming to the end of things. He’s old and, while still tough as an old boot, starting to lose his faculties. Sometimes he seems in a daze, or unsure of his surroundings, other times he seems clear and sharp. But the downward trend is clear.

This manifests itself most obviously in his sudden fixation on a phony sweepstakes letter he receives, of the ‘You may have already won 1 000 000 000’ kind. Convinced the letter is real, or maybe just indulging the fantasy, Woody determines to make his way to the State of the movie’s title, headquarters of the sweepstakes company, to claim his prize.  When his no nonsense family refuse to take him he sets out on foot, a repeated pattern that ends each time with his aimless, well meaning son David (Will Forte) bringing him home.

But when Woody’s wanderings start to pose a danger to the old man, David decides to drive his father to Nebraska after all, to prove that the prize is fake and snap him out of his reverie. Father and son take to the highway for a gentle, wryly comic road trip featuring many familiar road trip elements; misunderstandings, arguments, laughs, tension, regrets.

En route, Woody gets drunk and takes a tumble and the trip is more fully detoured by a few days of recuperation in the small town of Billings, where Woody grew up and much of his extended family still lives. His peppery wife Kate (June Squibb) and older son Ross (Bob Odenkirk) come to check up on him, and a round of family gatherings ensues. The polite veneer that hangs across these lunches and dinners is soon torn down however, once word of Woody’s ‘winnings’ gets out. 

It’s only a short step for Woody’s many friends and relatives to go from congratulating him on his good fortune… to trying to claim a piece of it for themselves, which they all do with varying degrees of forcefulness. And once the lie behind the cash is revealed, it’s an even shorter step for everyone to disown him again.

Alexander Payne’s sixth feature film is another assured effort, very much in keeping with the director’s previous works. And the muted tone, observational approach and mix of comic and dramatic on display here will be familiar to anyone who’s followed the director’s career to date.

Payne has always been a good director of actors – have a look at how many Oscar nominations his films have wrought, for one example of this – and he again elicits excellent performances from a strong cast. 

As the gruff, but likable, Woody, Bruce Dern has his best role (and craziest hair) in years, and he is well paired with an equally ingratiating performance from Will Forte. Although June Squibb trumps them both, in a riotous turn that quickly accelerates from put upon housewife to savage mouthed pitbull in a few hilarious scenes. Her vigorous defence of her husband’s character, and commensurate takedown of the rest of his family’s, is the films undoubted highlight. 

Although there is much to enjoy throughout, particularly the luminous black and white cinematography of Phedon Papamichael and the rustic score of Mark Orton. Both suit the film’s restrained, deliberate pace and add atmosphere and charm. 

Watching Nebraska is a bit like paying a visit to a small town in a quiet part of the country; it's easy going, undemanding, almost soothing. Everyone is unhurried. There is space and silence between moments and people. Much seems to be left unsaid, but even this could be illusionary. Like the inscrutable expression on the main characters face, you wonder; Are these people quiet because they're thinking things over? Or not thinking at all? Do they move through their lives slowly because they know something you don't? Or do they know nothing?

And, again like spending time in a quiet, out of the way place, sometimes the film hangs a bit heavy. There may be, at least a little, too much of not very much going on. There are flatspots, and the characters (for me, always excepting June Squibb) wear out their welcome after a time. The ending too, is a bit pat which seems at odds with the messy interpersonal relationships that the film otherwise centres around.

But mostly, this is as pleasant as a cruise down a back country highway on a summers day. It's entertaining and undemanding, with just enough insight to give the hint of resonance. It doesn't hit the pointed heights of some of Payne's other films, but has a genuine warmth that is missing from them as well. 

A polished film with many fine qualities.

Review: Blue is the Warmest Colour

Rates:  *  *  *  *

Adele is a middle class teenage girl living in Lille, in Northern France. She meets a girl, falls in love the lovers swoon, move in together, fall out, split and, to varying degrees, move on.

And that, from a plot perspective, is all.

Which seems like a thin prop to base a three hour movie on. But plot, and plottiness, is not what lies at the heart of this movie. For ‘Blue is the Warmest Colour’ is nothing short of an ambitious attempt to capture something of the fabric of contemporary life, from a young person’s perspective.

The film's cycle begins with Adele (Adele Exarchopolous) as a callow, but typical, high school student. She hangs out with her friends, has a fling with a cute (male) classmate and gets through her schoolwork as painlessly as possible. But a sly kiss from a bi-curious (female) classmate triggers something in her, and leads her to a lesbian club and a chance encounter with Emma (Lea Seydoux) , an independent minded university student Adele had previously glimpsed on the street.

Sparks fly everywhere.

Adele and Emma shortly move from friendship to physicality, an event that both opens the younger woman’s eyes to world’s previously unseen, and causes major upheaval in her life. She gets an unexpectedly mixed response from her classmates – some  of whom harass her before school – and decides to keep the status of her relationship with Emma concealed from her parents, which leads to an unbearably awkward family dinner.

Adele doesn't so much come out as take a series of peeks.

Change comes in a wider perspective as well, as Emma exposes Adele to new horizons in art, literature, conversation and ideas. And much of the film is devoted to broad topics like these; less the stuff of film narrative, more the currency of existence itself. Philosophy and avant-garde art share screen space with the two lovers.

This allows the film to pose questions around the nature of identity and to show how different people choose to define themselves; whether it be through their sexuality, their friends, their taste in art and books, or what they like to drink and eat. While Adele grapples with these things in turn – she has barely begun to cope with her altered sexual parameters before she has to adjust to other, pronounced, changes – Emma is presented as more poised and confident, more sure of herself and less inclined to seek outside validation. It is one of the main differences between the two, and the one most likely to cause friction.

Adele moves into Emma’s flat and the two settle into a kind of comfortable domesticity, although it seems from the outset that Emma is more comfortable than her partner. Time passes. Adele finishes high school and begins training as a pre-school teacher, while Emma starts to make a name for herself as an artist. 

Faced with making their way in the world, and earning a living, the couple spend less time together, as the honeymoon phase gives way to daily routine. Adele struggles to cope with this transition, and feels alienated from her partner and jealous of the artistic colleagues she spends her workday with.

Nervous and uncertain, Adele accepts the attention of a handsome male teaching colleague. 

The affair is soon uncovered however, and Emma aggressively breaks off their relationship. She kicks Adele out onto the street in the middle of the night, in a heartbreaking scene that gives a final summation of each woman’s character; Emma, fierce, proud and confident; Adele, confused, inarticulate and rawly emotional.

A lengthy coda follows, as Adele attempts to pick up the pieces. She advances as a teacher, tries other relationships, tries to woo Emma back and finally comes to a melancholic acceptance of things, when she attends an art show of Emma’s and sees her with a new lover.  The film ends as Adele walks down the street alone in the rain, a seemingly sad finale that nevertheless indicates a growing maturity, one borne of unhappy experience.

Writer-director Abdellatif Kechiche’s epic length drama won the top prize at Cannes last year and has garnered both critical raves and a few raised eyebrows. And it’s easy to see why. This emotionally intense treatment of a young girl’s blossoming contains a potent mix of unvarnished emotion and uninhibited sex. The frankness of both of these elements is arresting… and guaranteed to ruffle a few feathers. Although you’d have to imagine that anyone likely to be shocked by the film’s graphic sex scenes may be unlikely to venture to the local arthouse cinema to seek it out.

The film’s extreme length has both positive and negative aspects. With so much running time to play with, Kechiche and his talented leads are free to tease out their character’s traits in a naturalistic, unforced fashion, an approach that lends an unmistakable air of reality to what is depicted on screen.  The downside is that the film does linger perhaps too long at times, which occasionally diminishes the impact. This is more pronounced towards the end, which contains at least one conclusion too many.

Adele Exarchopolous is on screen, and in close up, throughout the entire film and offers an amazing, one of a kind performance. You can discern as much about what is happening by charting the shifting expressions on her face as you can from anything she actually does, a film making style that you imagine must have been exhausting for the young actor (both leads subsequently complained to the press about the difficulties of the production). Her changing manner also provides a subtle portrayal of the passage of time, crucial in a film that jumps ahead months without any other obvious signposts. Seydoux is also good, in a less well developed role.

But this is Adele's story, and Exarchopolous' show (it's instructive that the film's French title was 'The Life of Adele, Chapters 1 and 2'). And this is an occasionally thrilling, nearly always absorbing and fundamentally brave thing to watch. All the creative talents attached to this film deserve plaudits for having the nerve to attempt a project like this, and for pulling it off as well as they have done. 

Sure to be one of the years most talked about films.

Review: Le Weekend

Rates:  *  *  *  1/2

I was in Europe last year when Le Weekend  was about to hit cinemas. The above poster was on countless Tube stations.

And, on first glance, this seems like the most straightforward of prospects; sun dappled Paris, an aging couple, a zany friend. You don't really need to see the film to know how it plays out. The aging couple have drifted apart, they decide on a final fling, they hate it, they love it, Goldblum provides the comic relief, everyone learns something, you leave the cinema and wonder what on earth made you go in there in the first place.

Well, at least I knew the answer to this one. My partner got me a free ticket.

And, sure enough, the set up was much as expected, Nick (Jim Broadbent) and Meg (Lindsay Duncan) are an aging couple who have drifted apart. Two early points to me and I was feeling very smug at this point as I munched on a gourmet Connoisseur icecream (girl at the candy bar: 'Oh! I looove those.') The opening of the film finds them on a train, headed for the dreaded final fling in sun dappled Paris.

And, more surely enough, things don't go as planned at first. Nick has booked them into a hotel they spent a fondly remembered weekend at in their youth, and is dismayed to find said hotel now a mouldering dump. Meg takes one look at their cramped, poky room and marches out to hail a cab, seemingly unconcerned as to whether her husband follows her. She leads them on to a ritzy five star place, and a credit card buckling suite.

Again, much as expected. The characters seem standard movie cut outs - boring, conservative husband, free spirited, independent wife - and the scenario is one that has been played out many times throughout the history of cinema...

... only, it doesn't take long for the film to start to subvert these precepts.

The banter between the couple is considerably more pointed than you might expect. They don't so much nag and tease each other, as you expect elderly movie couples to do, as take to each other with truncheons. The casual viciousness with which they verbally thump one another is positively cold blooded.

And their mild weekend getaway is quickly derailed as well. It turns out that Meg is not only bored and frustrated with her husband, but seems to loathe the sight of him, and calmly tells him over their first night's dinner that she wants out of their relationship.

'I want... a new start,' she says firmly, putting a spoonful of something rich in her mouth.

And you can see why.

Nick and Meg seem to have nothing whatever in common. One is bold and gregarious, the other stodgy and introverted. One likes to think of the future, the other the past. One thinks that great days still lie ahead, the other seems to have dismissed this notion and, with it, given up all hope.
Nick then tells Meg that he has lost his teaching job - fired for smart mouthing a student - which further seems to underline his diminishing stature. Meg seems to be walking away from a train wreck.

But the movie turns again at this point, triggered by a small act of rebellion when Meg cajoles Nick into sneaking out of the restaurant without paying their hefty bill. With their future together seemingly gone, it's as if a weight has been lifted. They relax, they laugh, they drink and listen to music. They walk the ever luminous Paris streets. They talk, openly and directly about their feelings, their resentments, their regrets.

These moments seem truly intimate and have the ring of truth. There is little recrimination, just melancholia, over time and opportunities lost. It's the sort of conversation you can only have at certain key moments in your life, when dramatic circumstances force a stark re-evaluation.

Things come to a head at a party given by Morgan (Jeff Goldblum), an old university chum who Nick bumps into on the street. And where Nick is struggling in almost every facet of his life, Morgan is thriving; sporting an attractive trophy wife, a handsomely swish apartment and a book of collected works that has become a phenomenal best seller.

Mentally freed, or just flattered, Meg arranges to meet an attractive party goer at a nearby bar for a drink. While Nick gets stoned with Morgan's unhappy teenage son and makes an impromptu speech to the assembled throng, confessing all his recent reversals. Meg then, almost reluctantly, counters by saying that she still loves her husband after all, and they leave together.

But lest the movie veer back towards safe, wrinkly rom-com territory, it has one more final swerve up its sleeve. The couple decide not to go back to England, and end dancing in a cafe in the famous manner of the misfit trio in Jean Luc Godard's Bande a Parte (with Goldblum making up the numbers). Their future is suddenly wide open and whether they stay in Paris and stay together, or do neither of these things, for the first time in the entire film, they appear properly happy.

I mistook this earnest, thoughtful drama for a bit of fluff before I knew it was penned by Hanif Kureishi, the British author who has made his career out of documenting lower and upper middle class misery. And, by his recent standards, this almost is a bit of a romp.

Kureishi has a keen eye and a sharp ear for dialogue, which illuminates his characters and makes their troubles surprisingly affecting. He also shows skill in allowing the characters to slowly reveal themselves to us; the thumbnail stereotypes they first present as are expanded, and then destroyed, by film's end. Nick seems less a stodge then a rather patient man deeply in love with a difficult woman, and Meg shows that her bravado can both be easily punctured by the world and restored by her more down to earth partner.

These are rich characters, all the more remarkable when you consider their undoubted ordinariness, and they are well served by two veteran actors in peak form. As is Jeff Goldblum, who has found his best part in years as a vain, cerebral motor mouth.

Le Weekend is an unusual film, staking out complex turf between comedy, drama and romance. All of these elements are present, but not in their conventional form, which gives the piece a tone that is hard to categorise. Similarly, the overall message remains somewhat obscure. Are Nick and Meg breaking free? Showing that life goes on, even after retirement age? Or are they just running away, hiding from their problems, much as Morgan and Nick's deadbeat son have done?

No easy answers are provided, and the movie suggests that there are none to be found, anywhere. As you age, life doesn't get any easier, or clearer, but remains a constant problem to be grappled with. An idea that is both refreshing and depressing, all at once.

Five Things I Loved and Hated About 'House of Cards' Season 2

So there it was. Eight bucks, half an hour and I had a 'Netflix' account on my PS3.

This effort was for one thing, and one thing only. To watch the second season of the Netflix produced show 'House of Cards,' released on Friday/Saturday (depending on where you were in the world) in its entirety for a few days.

My partner and I were both up for a marathon. We came late to the first season - we didn't watch it till some months after it had aired in serial format - but we devoured it whole once we got into it. Evil congressman Frank Underwood (Kevin Spacey), his alien wife Claire (Robin Wright) and a host of power crazed numbskulls, only too ready to get sucked into this alpha couple's schemes.

It could hardly be better.

We did it in two halves; six episodes on Saturday, seven on Sunday. All that's left now is the wash up... and the countdown to the next premium Netflix marathon!

Warning: Spoilers.

FIVE THINGS I LOVED

1. The Opening Ep.

Things had worked out pretty well for Frank by the end of the first season. His relentless scheming had landed him on the verge of the Vice Presidency, most of his enemies had been thwarted, he'd gotten away with murder and he'd even managed to lure his wife back from the right on photographer she'd run away with (briefly). But Season 2 upped the stakes immediately, pitching Frank back into conflict with the spunky journalist, Zoe Barnes (Kate Mara), he'd toyed with throughout Season 1. As she honed in on his lies and coverups, Frank suddenly took decisive action and bumped her off, a plot twist so outrageous I think I yelled at the screen. 'No! I can't believe that! Can you believe that? They can't do that!' But they did, and everyone who knew Zoe was smartly looking for a quiet place to hide. Advantage Frank, and the series beautifully set up.

2. Lucas Melts Down

It was unlikely that anything in the new episodes could have topped the story arc of Peter Russo, the likable and doomed pawn of Frank's play for the VP slot from Season 1. And unlikely it proved. But after Zoe's stunning exit, her half boyfriend Lucas' mental collapse gave a bit of heart and raw emotion to what is, otherwise, a pretty chilly programme. Tossing caution to the wind as he tries to find out what happened to his dearly departed, Lucas quickly finds himself caught in a downward spiral, rapidly running out of friends and credibility. Set up and jailed by the end of the first brace of episodes, Lucas tells his story to his former boss, the now retired newspaper man Tom Hammerschmidt. Bearded, red eyed and ruined, Lucas' reaction to Tom's article - 'You made me sound crazy!' - was an unforgettable moment.

3. Claire Loses Her Cool

Speaking of chilly, Frank's sepulchral wife Claire is so cold it's a wonder she isn't standing in the kitchen, humming. But this season showed that beneath her imperturbable exterior a passionate heart does beat, normally manifesting itself in some particularly vicious plan or comment. Witness the flabbergasting maneuver she pulls on a disgruntled former employee; a woman unwisely suing her for harassment, who also needs expensive pregnancy medication paid for by Claire's firm's health care plan. Not only does Claire have the woman's health coverage stopped but, when she is confronted about this, tells the pregnant woman calmly, 'I'm willing to let your baby wither and die inside you.' Suffice to say, Claire shortly gets what she wants. Another great moment arrives after Frank has been bested by his wealthy nemesis, Raymond Tusk. After Frank states that he wants revenge, Claire adds, 'And let's make him suffer,' with such intensity that if she had been staring at a piece of wood at the time, you imagine it would have caught fire. Bravura, boo-hiss villainy.

4. Freddie

Oh course, it's not all perverse fun. Sometimes things get out of hand, and there are plenty of bodies littering the roadside in both series as testament to the toxic effect the Underwood's have on most people that cross their path. And in Series 2 one person to cop a whack was Freddie, the well drawn supporting character (beautifully played by Reg E. Cathey) who runs the down at heel rib joint where Frank likes to hang out. As the media spotlight turns more heavily on Frank, a nasty secret from Freddie's past comes to light, with dire consequences both for him and his troubled son. Unlike most - all - of the other people in his life, Frank does genuinely seem to care about Freddie, so their subsequent breach carries a surprising emotional weight. And watching Freddie forced to sell his business and then walk down the street and out of the show is a rare poignant moment, amidst the shenanigans. 

5. Frank v. Tusk

Of course, Frank Underwood, FU to his friends, is the main game here and he lives up to the high expectations created by Spacey's first go round. Whether he's grinning affably while sweet talking someone he loathes, calmly lying to the President of the United States or pushing someone he used to be intimate with under a train, Spacey again seems to fully inhabit this oily skin. Throughout the Season, some of Frank's best moments come as he tangles with the wily Raymond Tusk, a super wealthy political busy body who is drawn like Warren Buffet's evil, fish head eating twin. Frank and Raymond cross paths repeatedly, and ever more aggressively, as they try and get in the way of each other's plans, with increasingly dramatic results. Frank throwing a steak offered by Tusk into a swimming pool is a comic highlight, while their final wit-matching in a service corridor before a crucial congressional hearing sums up the whole series in a few pointed sentences. With Frank installed as President by Season's end, you hope a re-match is on these cards for Season 3.

AND FIVE I DIDN'T 

1. Wimp President

Ok, so Frank has quite a roll call of enemies; Raymond Tusk, Remy Danton, Jackie Sharp, Linda Vasquez, Janine Skorsky, Lucas Goodwin, Tom Hammerschmidt... and on, and on. And The President is written as really just one more pawn in Frank's game. The show isn't really set up to make them go head to head. But did he really have to be as dim as he is? Can't he see... anything that's going on? As soon as Frank comes in as VP his whole administration turns to shit! Doesn't he notice? One minute everything is calm, Frank comes in, everything turns bad. Surely even George W. Bush could connect those dots! Instead, this guy says, 'I'm counting on you to fix this mess Frank. I'm delegating you total authority, total independence and total everything else. You can tell everyone that whatever it is you're up to is in my name.' And then he goes off to nap. You want to give him a clip round the head and demand that he be a more formidable target. Frank rolls his eyes as the Prez leaves the room, and you don't blame him.

Don't list- Oh my god, not again?!

2. Mastermind?

On a parallel topic, some of Frank's plotting seems a little transparent this time. Part of the fun in Season 1 was trying to figure out what the end game was going to be; how would Frank's different schemes tie together into a self beneficial whole. But we know the answer from the jump in season 2. He clearly has his sights on the Presidency and there is a lack of subtlety about some of his means to this end; he champions dud strategic ideas (has any President, ever, willingly embraced a special prosecutor?), he tells obvious, disprovable lies and he engineers so many sackings and resignations from among the Presidents trusted staff that the White House starts to resemble a tomb. It gets so blatant that the President himself almost notices... and then changes his mind and puts Frank solely in charge of crucial policies x, y and z. 

3. Stamper In Circles

One of my favourite characters in HoC is Doug Stamper; Frank's quietly loyal, ruthless fixer. And, at the start of season 2, it seems that he is going to get a more central role this time around. As well as putting out fires for Frank all over the place, Stamper also becomes deeply fixated on the young call girl, Rachel, he helped conceal during Season 1. His relationship with her tantilises; does he love her? Hate her? View her as a surrogate mother? A surrogate daughter? Is it just his addictive personality? Does he want to help her, fuck her or just listen to her read Charles Dickens? This is complex, arresting stuff... which, unfortunately, doesn't really lead anywhere. Stamper goes around in a circle over this girl, alternately looking out for her and bullying her, and can never make up his mind what he wants to do with her. And still hasn't, when she finally clubs him over the head and makes a break for it. A disappointing fizzle that may re-kindle, in some fashion, next year.

4. The Gimmick

It says a lot that Frank doesn't talk direct to camera until some way into this season... and even more that you don't miss it. To me, it seems like the time on this device is up. Best play it straight in season four and restore that fourth wall. 'Nuff said.

5. Rush to the Finish Line

Maybe I was getting Netflix marathon fatigue, but it seemed like the last few episodes flashed by in a blur. So much ground was covered in the last two episodes in particular - The President goes from solid to unpopular to toxicity and impeachment in about twenty minutes - that I wondered why so much time was expended in the first half of the season on not very much. The end of the season is fun, but a whirlwind, which seems out of step with the shows calculating characters. The final ep also fell a bit flat, as things wrapped up very neatly for Frank. Surely some disgruntled loyalist of the President's could have made trouble? Most of them seemed to have some idea of what Frank was up to (always excepting the President himself, of course). Maybe they were just enjoying the ride too much, or were too busy watching their own backs. Congress men and women, even fake ones, are a busy bunch, Still, the finale played out with a disappointing lack of tension.

Despite these quibbles, the series was mostly very satisfying. I'll definitely be back for more next year... and be ruthlessly applying some of Frank's tricks on my corporate colleagues in the meantime.